


In Wine there is Wisdom

by StealthKaiju



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Author takes no responsibility for their actions whatsoever, Fluff, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 01:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16253594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: Whirl and Cyclonus sitting in a bar talking about nothing - no one - in particular...





	In Wine there is Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Benjamin Franklin quote.
> 
> Will be back to Spirk shortly, this was written as a gift to my partner.

Whirl looked at Cyclonus over the top of his glass of energon. If he had eyebrows (eyebrow?), one (it?) would have been raised disdainfully. ‘You’re saying you don’t like him.’

 

‘I like him. He is… exuberant, but I did not say I did not like him. He is amicable.’

 

‘No, wallflower, I meant _like him_ like him.’

 

The red glow of Cyclonus’s optics dimmed slightly. ‘I do not know what you mean.’

 

Whirl would have winked, except (as Swerve had pointed out before with his usual tact) you can’t wink when you only have the one eye. ‘Oh, I think you do.’

 

There was a slight huff. ‘What you think and what is reality are two startlingly different concepts.’

 

Whirl took a swig. ‘Thank Primus for that,’ he muttered. He leaned back in the chair, looking at his (nemesis? rival?) drinking companion. ‘You do though, don’t you? You don’t want to, but you do.’

 

Cyclonus opened his mouth a few times, the slight mechanical click as his jaw moved. It looked as if he was going to rebuke Whirl’s claim, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the subject of their discussion, bounding over to their table.

 

‘Tailgate,’ Whirl exclaimed, seeing Cyclonus tense. ‘We were just talking about you.’

 

‘Oh?’ Tailgate dropped next to Cyclonus with the grace of drunk Labrador. ‘What were you saying?’

 

Whirl laughed. ‘We were talking about you, not to you.’

 

Tailgate crossed his arms. Without realising, he had sidled closer to Cyclonus, who had unintentionally opened up his arms, turning his body towards the smaller bot. ‘He’s picking on me again,’ he whined at Cyclonus.

 

There was a shrug in response. ‘He picks on everyone.’

 

‘Not you.’

 

‘Oh but I do,’ Whirl replied. He sat drinking, looking over at the two. He studied them as he would study a clock. He didn’t have his hands to do the fine work he used to, but he could still see the small details, the minutiae, the essence of the workings.

 

Could still see how all the pieces fit together, each cog, each pin and spring, and how one slight misalignment, however trifling or seemingly insignificant, could destroy or fix the whole.

 

Cyclonus and Tailgate moved towards each other like teutonic plates, gravitated towards each other like celestial bodies. How did neither of them realise this?

 

Cyclonus gave a quick death glare to Whirl that would have any sane bot running in terror. ‘Where is your board?’ he asked Tailgate.

 

Tailgate sighed theatrically. ‘Ratchet confiscated it. Said if I use it anywhere near him or his medibay again, he’d break it over my head.’

 

Cyclonus’s grip on his glass tightened, a faint cracking sound.

 

Whirl nodded. ‘Gotta love a doc with such a sunny bedside manner.’

 

Tailgate’s optics dimmed. ‘I _might_ have deserved it. I did almost run him and Drift over.’ He sighed. ‘I keep thinking I’m getting the hang of it, then I realise I’ve no idea how to do it.’

 

Whirl looked over at Cyclonus. ‘Better to risk and fail, then not risk it at all.’

 

There was a few seconds of silence.

 

‘I’m getting the feeling you’re deliberately talking over my head,’ Tailgate remarked.

 

‘What makes you say that?’

 

‘Well, you’re looking at Cyclonus, and talking over my head.’

 

‘Not our fault you’re a short arse.’

 

Tailgate huffed, turning to Cyclonus, leaning into him slightly. ‘Your friend is mean.’

 

Whirl expected Cyclonus to correct Tailgate and tell him that they were not friends, but he merely nodded. ‘Yes he is. Try not to take it personally.’

 

Were he and Cyclonus friends? They had not yet killed each other. Was that friendship? Was that as close to friendship as he or anyone else were entitled to after so many years of bloodshed and slaughter?

 

Except Tailgate did not have blood on his hands. Not in the same way the rest of them did. One of the reasons he thought Cyclonus and Tailgate fit so well together: one had lived too much; the other too little. And Tailgate, as much as he confused and unsettled Cyclonus, did make him happy. His happiness would have been imperceptible to others, maybe even to Cyclonus himself, but Whirl saw it.

 

And he did want Cyclonus to be happy. As much as any of them- all misaligned, damaged or broken- could be happy.

 

So they must be friends.


End file.
